


Filter the Pebbles

by andromeda_reinvented



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:32:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromeda_reinvented/pseuds/andromeda_reinvented
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment on the Wounded Coast where Hawke puts his trust in Fenris</p>
            </blockquote>





	Filter the Pebbles

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Evan, who should have had this a long time ago. I told him I'd bribe him to finish his thesis with fic, and he asked for Adventurer Hawke, who took an arrow to the knee. It was supposed to be silly. Oops. 
> 
> But I thought it was time I get my ass in gear and finish this, because he just got his grad school acceptance letter. You deserve it, Evan. Congrats, man.
> 
> Also, this is probably full of terrible grammar mistakes. I do so apologize. Tenses are the bane of my existence.

The Tal-Vashoth spear hit the edge of Hawke’s greaves and splintered. He fought through the skirmish, not noticing until the last enemy was groaning on the ground. He was standing one moment, the next he collapsed on the ground, holding his leg. The others were at his side in an instant. Varric held a potion out, a worried expression on his face.

“Varric, I didn’t know you cared. You spoil me too much.”

“Make all the jokes you want, Hawke, but drink the potion. You can complain about me doing you too many favors later, perhaps in front of the Merchants’ Guild.”  
Hawke shook his head and grinned, making a face at the taste as he downed the potion.

“Why do these things always taste so bad? You’d think they’d be able to make different flavors with how much gold we spend-“

“I’ll bring it up with the potion makers at the Circle. Now, up we go, Hawke. Bianca needs some new strings, and I think I saw a scratch. That and there’s drinks waiting for all of us at the Hanged Man.”

Laughing again, Hawke made to stand, only to fall again, his newly healed leg not supporting him.

“I don’t think it’s supposed to do that. Do you need an injury kit, Hawke?” Isabela frowned, looking around for the spear Hawke had pulled out. Holding up the offending weapon, she studied it, free hand on her hip.

“It’s shattered. There must be splinters inside his knee still. I’ve seen things like this after ship battles. You need a healer, Hawke. Potions won’t cut it. Stay here, and stay off the leg. I’ll go get one.” She didn’t say Anders. Losing Bethany to the Circle, even years later, was a sore subject, but bringing up their remaining mage in front of Fenris was a only a good idea if one felt like parting with body parts what should remain on the inside.

“No. We don’t need a mage. I can carry Hawke back.” Fenris frowned, finding the sand under his bare feet suddenly very interesting. No one was fooled. His glances back at Hawke and the occasional sparks along his tattoos betrayed him. Hawke sighed, making himself more comfortable on the ground.

“Isabela is probably right, and can take care of herself. She’s going to go get a healer. Varric is going to tell me a story so I don’t die of boredom while we’re waiting, and Fenris is going to make sure we’re all still alive by the time Isabela gets back. Are there any questions?” Hawke’s tone didn’t leave room for any questions, nor did the look he gave his friends.

“Of course not, Hawke. Now, have I told you the story about how the Hero of Ferelden got her start? It wasn’t so far from where you grew up, Hawke…”

***

“And I would continue the story, but I hear someone coming. From the sound of it, it’s our rescue. For a thief, Isabela can be rather loud.” Varric dug in his bag for his water, having talked the entire time. Everyone knew something had happened between Fenris and Hawke, but neither was forthcoming with details. Some days, it was fine, but some days the tension between the two of them was obvious even to Merrill. The amount of awkward between them seemed to be directly related to the amount of injuries Hawke had at any given moment. By the holy tits of Andraste if someone else tried to bring it up, though. It seemed to be the one thing they could agree on without question. There was to be no talking about what happened, no matter how much wine Varric gave either of them during Wicked Grace.

“Try to think of it this way. You like the way a man’s body feels against yours, right? It’s just aesthetically pleasing. There are nice, solid slabs of muscle just waiting for your hands to explore. There’s the scruff from not shaving that morning tickling your skin. It feels good. Am I wrong? Oh look, you’re blushing. Of course I’m not wrong. I agree. All those things are nice. But sometimes I don’t want scruff and slabs. Sometimes I want soft curves, the nice heavy weight of breasts filling my hands, smooth skin and wet heat under my tongue. I like to keep my options open, is all I’m saying. It doesn’t always have to be black and white. Besides, there was that rumor going around for a while there was something going on between Hawke and the Arishok. I mean, Hawke still killed him, but wouldn’t that have been interesting?”

“Oh, look, it’s Hawke. I need to go be a healer now, if you’ll excuse me.” The way Isabela's smirk turned sharp behind Anders’ back gave Fenris no small satisfaction. That he didn’t like the mage was something he was plain about. There was no need to hide it. He was also certain that if it came down to the two of them, he would win. Killing mages was something he was familiar with, comfortable territory.

Unfortunately for the moment, they needed him. There was no denying that their group needed a healer. Fenris just wished that Bethany was able to come with them, rather than this abomination. He trusted Anders about as far as he could throw the man, and had suspicions he wasn’t being honest with Hawke. He couldn’t prove anything, however, which made him hesitate, which in turn made him angry with himself. If this had been when he’d first arrived in Kirkwall, he would have punched his hand through Anders’ ribcage without a second thought. But now… Hawke would not approve.

He should have left years ago, before the thought of Hawke, of Hawke and he together had even started. Still, even after he’d run out, he stayed, wore Hawke’s red around his wrist. His world had turned itself upside down and backward and sideways and still he stayed, because following Hawke was the only direction he wanted to go.

A hiss and a metal covered fist slamming into a rock brought his attention back to what was going on. Hawked slammed his fist against his back rest, his injured leg stripped down so Anders could work without the obstruction of armor. Still, something wasn’t working. Hawke was in pain, and Anders’ eyes had gone white, the faint glow of the abomination inside of him starting to show. A small pile of splintered wood was on the ground next to them.

“There’s one left, but it’s stuck. I can’t get it, not without damaging your knee, Hawke.” Anders pushed his magic back down, pushing the Fade away and sat back on his heels. “The splinter is bigger than the others, and it’s lodged between your knee cap and your artery. I can pull it out, but you might lose use of your leg. I’m sorry Hawke, but I don’t know what to do.” If he were a kinder person, Fenris might let himself believe that Anders’ distress was genuine. Instead he growled and before he realized what he was doing, had Anders by the collar, lifting him up off the ground.

“What do you mean you don’t know what to do? You’re a healer, so heal him! You owe him nothing less after everything he’s done for you, risked for you. Don’t you say you can’t do it. You have to do it.”

“Fenris! Stop!” Hawke’s voice cut through everything. “Put him down.” Fenris let go, counting a small victory as Anders crumpled, not expecting the drop. He dusted his hands off, stalking to the furthest part of the beach where he could still see Hawke, where he could get to his side in an instant if needed. Not that he would, but he could.

“Wait! I have an idea.” Isabela grinned, her hands flipping the knife that had materialized when Fenris had grabbed Anders. “Fenris, you can do this! All you have to do is do your fisting thing, and pull the splinter out like the heart of a slaver, and then Anders can fix the rest and then we can bloody well get out of here. Right? That will work?” She glanced around, pleased with herself at her idea.

“If that last splinter could be removed, then yes, I can fix the rest of it.” Anders picked himself up, trying to get as much sand off as possible.

“I can’t do it. I won’t do it.”

“Varric, I’m out of water. Take Anders and Isabela and go see if there’s a spring around here somewhere?”

“How long should we take to find this spring?” Hawke grinned, in spite of himself.

“See, this is why you’re my favorite dwarf. Don’t take too long, but don’t hurry either.”

“Be careful Hawke. Scream if you need us. We’ll come running.”  
Hawke waited until the others were out of hearing before gritting his teeth and trying to stand. It was stupid and foolish, and it worked when Fenris ran back over, helping Hawke back down into a possibly comfortable position.

“What in the Maker’s Name do you think you are doing?”

“You seem to listen only when I’m in pain, these days. I’m not trying to push you into anything, Fenris, you know that. But whatever it is that between you and Anders, I need you to let it go, at least for now. Right now, I need him. We all need him to be able to do his job, and do it uninterrupted. When we get home, do as you please. But if I am to keep us all safe, then I need you to do as I say.” Fenris sneered, torn between the urge to hit Hawke and the urge to run away.

“Would you like me to fetch you your wine? Shall I bring you your letters? What else would you have of me, Master?” Fenris spit the word out, itching for a fight, knowing it wasn’t Hawke he was angry at, yet not having any other target. Instead of rising to the bait, Hawke just looked sick.

“Is… Is that what you think, Fenris? I am sorry, my friend, if that is what it seems. You are free, and I would do anything, everything in my power to make sure you stay that way. You have no obligation to stay with us.”

“Hawke… No, that’s not what I… I didn’t… You’re injured. That bothers me. I am more on edge than I should be. You are a distraction, Hawke.”

“Do you trust me?” It was not what he had been expecting, and Fenris turned back to Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall sat slumped against a boulder, one leg forced straight, and pain making his face twist in a way that caused a similar twisting in Fenris’ chest.

“With my life, Hawke.”

“Then don’t do this for Anders, or for Isabela, or for Kirkwall or for slaves. Do this because I’m asking, and because there is no one else in whose hands I would rather put my own life.”

“I may fail.”

“Well, no one is perfect.”

***

It hurt, that much was obvious from Hawke's face. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to stop, to take his hand back and run as far as he could, then hide. He couldn't do it. He had trained, had been trained to kill, to hurt and maim. He was a force of destruction, a tool forged in the stolen blood of Tevinter. He'd held the heart of his tormentor in his hand and crushed it. But healing was different. How could he do that? He was a creature of destruction, of violence. He had not been created for this. Hawke trusted him. Even now, Hawke trusted him. Still, this was something he could not do. Slowly he pulled his hand out, standing and turning to walk away, only to run into Anders’ scowling face.

“I am not meant to do this.” He longed to put his hand through Anders, to claim the last beat of his heart. Yet it would not solve their problems. Instead of moving, Anders stood his ground, not letting Fenris pass.

“You’re the only one who can do this. If I set the last of his injuries, the splinters will be stuck in his leg, permanently. At best, he’ll be in pain for the rest of his life. At worst, he could lose the leg and no one would be able to determine when.” Anders glared, the faint blue lines of Justice starting to leak onto his skin, betraying his anger. “You’re not the only one who cares, you know. Nor are you the only shoulder he’s cried on. After you left, who do you think put the pieces back together?”

Fenris growled, his anger from earlier returning in a scalding wave, his weight shifting automatically to a fighting stance. He’d run, it was true. What Hawke had given him that night was the singularly best thing he’d ever had. It had scared him down to his bones. He’d made his peace with his decisions, and he’d thought Hawke had as well. That Anders had been in that same place, been where he should have, that Hawke had cried for him, because of him, was something he could not bear.

“It hurts, doesn’t it? Seeing someone you care about with someone else, someone you don’t think is worth it. He turned me away, you know. He said he couldn’t do it, not if there was a chance you would come back.” Anders’ voice was bitter, but with his back turned to Hawke, it was unlikely he could hear. Hawke was, however, possessed of a completely functioning pair of eyes. If the lines of tension in Fenris didn’t give him away, the glow of lyrium definitely did.

“Fenris, come here, I’ll talk you through it.” Hawke’s voice was quieter than it had been earlier, and at a glance, his face looked pale. A second glance and Fenris was at Hawke’s side in an instant. There was a vicious purple bruise spreading rapidly along his leg.

“What is this? What’s happening?”

“The splinter probably nicked his artery. Fenris, it’s now or never.” The green glow of healing magic surrounded Anders’ hands as they hovered over Hawke’s leg.

“Fenris, close your eyes. Breathe in like you’re meditating. Calm your mind and relax your body. Take a handful of sand and let it fall through your fingers. Let it fall, catch only the pebbles mixed in.”

Here Hawke was, pain making his breathing harsh, his shoulders rigid, trying to comfort Fenris. How much had Hawke given to him, to them all, over the years without thinking about himself? Hawke had opened his home, his life and his heart to them all. Had anyone stopped to think about the cost to Hawke? His family was all but gone, lost to the evils of the world. His friends had betrayed him, his uncle had exploited him, yet here he was, still giving.

“Good, now look at me.” The fingertip that lifted Fenris’ chin was soft despite callouses from years of handling blades. “Just like before, alright? Strain everything out but the pebbles and the splinter. I trust you.”

Between one slow breath and the next, Fenris moved his hand, lyrium letting his fingers slide into the flesh of another, letting it slide through, catching only the splinters. He only relaxed when Hawke smiled, the uncomfortable twist in his chest loosening.

A moment, and then another, and then another passed, and nothing went wrong. Fenris backed away, letting Anders finish his healing of Hawke’s leg. He tucked the splinter into his pocket, to be added later to the small box hidden behind a loose brick above the fireplace. The splinter would sit alongside the other things Hawke had given him. If asked, he would not have said that a splinter would be a symbol of hope, of a future, but this time it was. He had been in Kirkwall for years, yet he’d never thought beyond what needed to be done that day, that mission or adventure. He’d followed Hawke down into the Deep Roads, against Qunari and bandits and his own creator. He had a feeling that soon he would follow Hawke down the road Fate had picked for them again. Maybe, if they survived it all, when Fate was done using them to shape the future of Thedas, they could make a future for themselves.


End file.
